


Of Gods and D(a)emons

by Ishimaru_Asuka



Series: Sneak Peeks - 'The Untold Stories of Neverbeen Universe' [2]
Category: The Untold Stories of Neverbeen Universe
Genre: Daemons, Dessert & Sweets, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Gods, Idols, Implied Sexual Content, Kings & Queens, Neverbeen Universe, Time Travel, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishimaru_Asuka/pseuds/Ishimaru_Asuka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a god can be hard, especially if the people putting their faith into you decide so for themselves and you have no say in being worshipped. Bál and Rhiannon are two of these Dhias, who are coping very differently as 'gods against their wills';</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gods and D(a)emons

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!
> 
> This is the eighth original work of my short story collection 'The Untold Stories of Neverbeen Universe'; there are eighteen stories in total and half of them are not published yet. And maybe, hopefully, you like this 'sneak peek' enough to want to read the others, too...
> 
>  Have fun reading!  
> Asuka Ishimaru

**Of Gods And D(a)emons**

 

About 2500 years ago Bál Eldfjall was still quite young when he managed to kill the queen of the Firedhias and therefore succeeded her by law of their race. He was not a king in the common sense of men, though.

The five Dhia species defined their king or queen simply as the currently strongest amongst their peers; and by extention the crown prince was the second strongest one, and so on and so forth. The hierarchy was quite dynamic. Everyone was allowed to challenge the superiors of their respective Dhia kind if they so whished and take over their rank if they succeeded, while they on the other hand had to answer their king's or queen's call - and of course the will of the 'King of King's' who was the strongest of the five kings. And only the five kings were allowed to battle out who became 'King of Kings' next; their crown princes or princesses filled the gap automatically once one of them succeeded in killing the current 'King of Kings'.

The saying 'The king is dead; long live the king!' actually originated from them and was later adapted by different species.

Despite all five races sharing one and the same realm, however, there was no quarrel or anymosity between Fire-, Water-, Wind-, Earth- and Réaltógdhias. The dynamics of their system kept them busy enough to vent all their agressions and longing for power, if ever there was; if they didn't learn to feel the Dhias were devoid of emotion so there were no other ulterior motives either and they were usually solitary. Moreover, in contrast to every other creature they didn't reincarnate, so they had to live their singular life to the fullest until their souls burst spectacularly like supernovae when they drew their last breath.

There simply was no war amongst Dhias.

"So early, Bál," the dying queen whispered and reached up to run a hand through Bál's hair, when the royal tribals faded from her pale skin and transferred onto his body as a sign that he was the new king. "So much and so fast you must have wanted to be king! But you have still so much more to learn before it would have been your time to challenge me," she smiled kindly, whereas there was only a glimmer of cruelty in his eyes as he watched the former queen die like ashes at his hands; her body simply vanished.

So today cruelty was the first emotion the young Bál had learnt.

The king of the Waterdhias, a good friend of the former fire crown prince, had waited in a distance and now approached to greet his new equal. They shook hands. "You've become strong," the elder king approved.

"I just wanted to know if Rhiannon was right," the blackhaired one said and looked at the changes in his body. "Interesting," he muttered to himself.

"Right in what?" the other king asked curiously.

"That I could be one of you five if I only wanted to," the young king answered and his red-brown eyes met the Waterdhia's gaze. "Seems like she is really never wrong, typically Réaltóg, " he shrugged.

"I see. She really is amazing being queen at such a young age. You, too, by the way," his friend smiled while his eyes strayed towards the western horizon. "Well, I gotta go; sheesh, they are so depending on me down there at the waterfairy hospital," he jovially said with a wink and patted Bál's shoulder. "You gotta answer your believers if they keep praying to you so hard, huh? Besides, there is one chap who's quite nice to chat to there."

The king of the Firedhias nodded. "See you at the kings' get-together then. The others would want to greet me too." They parted ways and, unbeknownst to and unseen by most people, Bál strolled leisurely through the lands of the only realm that wasn't bound by territory and that ignored the borders of all the petty kingdoms and nations and fenced places.

* * *

 

At a little shrine deep in the woods of a mountainside he stopped and sat on the wooden entrance steps to eat some of the offerings to the local fire deity and enjoy the view of the vale, if enjoy you could call it at all. The sweets were delicious.

Taking a look around inside the Dhia noticed that the idol placed at the altar somehow resembled his little brother a teensy bit. So either Flaeros used to answer the locals' prayers or there had once been a ministry of his powers that impacted on the world here, for example a conflagation, before he had decided it was a brilliant idea to possess a sword and become its soul.

Then again, men used to lump together the appearance of their 'Gods' to create the image they wanted to believe in and fit it to their culture and resemblance so they could relate better. The Dhias didn't ask to be worshipped; however naturally people reacted to them all the same and autonomously started putting up churches and shrines and temples and idols in their name, prayed and offered to them and put their faith and credo in them.

It felt wrong not to respond to all these efforts, so it was etiquette to at least listen to what these people had to say and then and there help to grant their wishes in exchange for the food, goods and places to stay during the Dhias' travels through the realm.

Anyhow, there was no doubt 'divine' fire entities were welcome here at this particular shrine. So Bál made himself at home for a short nap and snacks. Maybe he would later answer one or two prayers, since he really liked the sweets.

* * *

 

Later that day the Firedhia went to see Rhiannon again. The young queen had already expected him, though, and had set the table on the small balcony with a tea set for two. So he sat with her and snacked the sweet brownies she had already piled on his plate beforehand. "Congratulations," she smiled faintly and her silver eyes bore into his as if she could see right into his soul. And maybe she could.

Réaltógdhias were an odd kind compared to their elemental peers. They were the only Dhias to be born with a basic set of a few emotions, most of them were female, they were much less physically and magically strong and their most prominent capability was their 'sight', a means to scry anything anytime with pinpoint accuracy.

It seemed strange that a Réaltóg would become 'King of Kings', but it had just happened and crown princess Rhiannon Kertia had become queen at the tender age of six once their king ascended to the top.

She now looked as if she was in her late teens but she was about two centuries older than Bál; and she was almost ethereally beautiful and frail.

"I'm sorry. He won't," Rhiannon stated in her quiet and calm yet carrying and clear voice before the Firedhia could even think of the question she answered. It was always like that with her; she just knew.

Bál simply nodded. So his brother would rather stay a dumb old sword than come back to become crown prince; a very stately and mighty one, but still a sword. How disappointing, if you could call it a sentiment at all.

"The King of Kings is still missing," she then jumped to a different topic interesting to the freshly grown king, "and it will take a long time until you'll be able to meet him." The petite queen sipped on her tea while Bál kept snacking on the so perfectly sweet brownies. "But he is well, and he'll be still the strongest of us all once he comes back."

The younger Dhia nodded letting out an understanding grumble and moistured the tip of his index finger to meticulously pick up even the tiniest crumbs from his plate. Sweets were never wasted on him.

For a while they sat in silence enjoying the tropical night until the Réaltógdhia folded her small hands in her lap and downcast her silver eyes. "I won't come to the meeting, I'm sorry," she quietly declined, "but tell the others I said hi. And no, I won't come next time either; I can't just leave this place yet...not anyways." Her voice was humble yet definite; somehow Bál could tell she wasn't really sorry and she wouldn't be persuaded either. Even though she was friends with the new king of the Firedhias and she also got along with the other three of their rank.

It wasn't because she didn't want to see them; it was just that for some mysterious reason only known to her she couldn't  _ leave. _ Her condition had always been frail, so maybe her health wouldn't allow her to do as she pleased - and still she was the unparalleled queen of her kind. "I see," Bál said therefore; the only thing in this strange conversation he did say. 

And yet it felt as if it had been complete instead of monologous. If Bál hadn't known the Réaltógdhia and her kind already, he would have thought this 'interesting'.

Instead he accepted the little chocolate box already waiting for him and left her on the balconies by using his ability to teleport in a sudden burst of blaze without having poured himself any tea but having cleared the brownies completely.

But apparently that was just what Rhiannon had expected. For she righted the tea cup and put the used plate away right before someone else entered through the French windows.

The man was a Daemon and her host, so to speak. He, too, looked as if he was in his late teens; his true age lay in the 1700s, and for a Daemon that equalled adolescence. Nontheless, Rhagkal was the clan chief of the Ravens despite being the youngest of three siblings of the ruling generation.

He was quite handsome with black curls framing his face and playing about his nape while his pitch black eyes were hard, calculating and scrutinizing; they spoke of cruelty and the pleasure therein. Despite his powers and the means to do any deeds he so pleased, the Daemon was not beyond mere hospitality towards her, though.

Not yet.

However, Rhiannon knew of the future that tied herself to this man. During her whole remaining time she would be fated to him and never leave his side until the end - her end.

For even after the cease of her existence his full-fledged and even more malignant future-self would not let her go and come seek her out in the past - this very time - instead, enabled by a mighty artifact created by one of the most powerful devils, the Lord of Time, himself.

Rhiannon would have to deal with that; but she did neither fear nor grieve the fate she had forseen. Because she knew all the secrets there were to life; Rhiannon Kertia wasn't the queen of the Réaltógdhias for nothing.

So for now she sat on her chair on the balcony poised and head held high, ready for tea and pastries with a manipulative and merciless monster; with her silver eyes she looked right at the man who was going to be her future husband and father of her children... and who knew nothing about all that, at all. Rhagkal Raven wasn't even convinced of the queen's capabilities yet.

"Tell me your story again, Lady Kertia," the Daemon demanded while she took her time to pour him tea. She then nodded quietly and said demurely: "We pilgrim the realm to bestow the knowledge they seek on people, the knowledge only known to those with our 'sight'; to advise and answer their sense of fate and future, to give them purpose and guidance. Once my health permits it, we intend to move on."

Rhagkal sipped on his tea; his cruel black eyes never left hers, and they bore into her with scrutinizing intensity. "Travelling fortunetellers, are you? Psychics," he concluded. "Lady Kertia, I'm a realist, don't take me for an idiot who blue-eyedly believes whatever clever lies you whisper." He arched a brow beneath his black curls.

However, she smiled faintly into her cup. "Lord Raven, fortunetellers don't know the truth but try to read you and conjure a vague dream of possibilities and probabilities, and psychics communicate with spirits to relay messages," the Dhia quietly said, "and we do neither. We see. We know. And we share what we receive from our gift."

The rather young chief of the mightiest Daemon clan made a gesture with his hand. "Why, then try to impress me with your 'gift'. What could you possibly know?" he challenged her.

Rhiannon closed her eyes for a moment, while the images flitted in highspeed across the insides of her lids. When she opened them again her silver gaze was solely focussed on the man across the table; and the images of who he had been, who he was now and who he would become overlaid, while he would only see her stare into his soul.

"320 years from now you will watch your future wife die in lieu of the great masterplan you orchestrate and participate in; 1900 years later you will remember this very conversation and you will resume a quest started a few hours into the future. A quest that will lead you to a powerful ancient artifact, the Timechrystal, created by the Lord of Time and capable of granting access to the 'Space Between', key to every timeline there is, there was and ever will be."

"You're an ambitious man, Lord Raven, and when you want something you take it... and to achieve the one goal, that can't be reached, you'll stubbornly go at length to make it happen - with the Timechrystal. But when you're 4539 years old and have lived out both your future son and daughter and still are clan chief of the Ravens, you still try to bring back what ceased to exist and won't return," the Réaltógdhia told him in her quiet and clear voice.

Then the queen faintly smiled and sipped again on her tea. "By then you will curse me every day for being right about everything I said."

Rhagkal gave her a hard stare. "So you want me to humour you for some three centuries until I can say 'oh, you're a fraud like everyone else who sprouts nonsense about fate and future', is that it?" he shook his head and stood. "I don't know why I'm even listening to this. I should have you and your entourage either thrown out or executed."

Rhiannon looked up at him. "Because you need it to be true. The Timechrystal is part of what you truely want," she countered earnestly without fear of this dangerous creature she roused with her words.

For a moment Rhagkal lingered, his cruel demanding black eyes glaring right back at her silver ones. There was a thrill; her frail heart quivered and quickened in her chest. But then the moment passed. "For now I leave you to your fantasies, Lady Kertia. Good night," he stated and left the balcony through the French doors and exited her guest chambers soon after.

Rhiannon let out a shaky breath and touched her chest; her heart was still thudding too hard to be good for her condition. Still she stood and stepped inside. For the night had just begun.

* * *

 

"You're a cruel woman, Lady Rhiannon, and you know it," the same deep voice greeted her as just a few moments before outside. She smiled faintly and looked at who had appeared just now. Of course she had anticipated him.

Rhagkal, a 4489 years-old version of him, strode towards her and iron-gripped her frail wrists. This Daemon's curly mane reached to shoulder length and he wore a well trimmed three-day goatee and moustache, but he still was the same handsome man with the same cruel black eyes.

"You're still such an ambitious workaholic, Lord Rhagkal," she quietly stated and dropped her gaze. "You should get some rest; time travelling is strainous and you do so much more, " she murmured, before he lifted her head by her chin and kissed her hard and demanding. He took her there on the guest sofa, and she didn't deny him - Rhagkal was Rhagkal to her, and if the young clan chief, who had just gone, were to claim her she would accept him just as she accepted her widowed husband from the future.

He came for her, once he had the Timechrystal; always to this point in time, always secretly so his present-self wouldn't know, always and every day in 569 years he came for a few moments with her - probably the only time where he allowed himself to rest.

"It's useless," she later said when she sat on one end of the sofa and he rested his head on her lap, "my kind doesn't reincarnate. Once we're gone, we're gone." Mildly smiling the Dhia ran her frail hand through the raven silken curls she liked so much to touch.

He didn't even open his eyes, but he wasn't asleep either; it was only after he was sated that he allowed her such antics. "You really are a cruel woman," he repeated quietly, almost approvingly and she chuckled slightly. "But I still won't accept fate, whatever you say, " Rhagkal murmured, "And I'll keep coming."

"That you will," the queen of the Réaltógdhias said, "until the day you die and join me in the void."

  
  


 


End file.
